


I'm the President

by ponticle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexuality, Bravery, Gender Identity, Hope, Hopeful Ending, LGBTQ Themes, Nonbinary Character, Other, college SGA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 20:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13842108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: Hawke has waited four years to take over the Student Government Association. It's time to make some changes.





	I'm the President

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/gifts).



> For my personal Anders, who told me this story was good when I wasn't sure at all. Everyone needs someone who makes them brave.

* * *

“All right, I’d like to call this meeting to order,” I bang my fist on the table and look around at the assorted group in front of me. _I_ put this together—but I have a feeling that it was all orchestrated by Varric, actually.

Oh… I guess I should back up. I’m Hawke. I’m the president of the Student Government Association at Boston College. I clawed my way through the ranks over the last three years and now I’m finally in charge. Varric is my vice president. He helps me oversee the various clubs on campus.

“You’ve got this, Buddy,” he whispers. Varric is very encouraging.

Sitting at the table right now, we have a very motley crew:

Merrill is in charge of the Energy and Conservation Council. She’s a strange one, I have to say. Varric calls her Daisy because she’s always shoeless, picking flowers or protesting against new sidewalks on campus.

Then there’s Fenris—he leads ‘College Epicureans,’ which is basically just an excuse to get drunk and eat too much. Everyone loves their parties, but I have a feeling _he_ doesn’t, which is a mystery.

Aveline heads up the Self-Defense Club. She holds nightly classes and stages rallies where everyone gets emergency whistles. She’s done a really good job organizing the campus watch too—everyone likes her, even if she _is_ kind of a hardass. 

Isabela is the president of Alpha Delta Pi. It’s the biggest and sassiest of all the sororities on campus. She hosts _wild_ parties—most of us never get an invite… myself included.

Sebastian leads Archery Club—I don’t really know him, but he seems okay… maybe a little stuffy… but my _sister_ really likes him. Oh yeah… I should mention her…

I have two little siblings: Bethany and Carver—they’re twins. This year they decided to join me at school. In a typical show of nepotism, I appointed them secretary and treasurer respectively. To be fair, Varric approved it. He likes them both a lot.

And that pretty much rounds out the whole group… except one: _Anders_. He leads our Pride organization. He’s always wearing some new triangle on his shirt—sometimes I know what the colors mean; sometimes I don’t. Today, he’s wearing the bi-pride triangle… which is nice, since that’s _my_ symbol… and based on some of our cursory conversations, I think it’s his too.

“Are you getting this?” I whisper over my shoulder to Bethany. She’s supposed to be taking notes, and I bet she _is_ … but it’s her first day.

She nods.

“Great… well, let’s begin with old business,” I say.

Merrill raises her hand and I nod to her. “I am still waiting for an allocation for new cafeteria signs.”

I have to resist an urge to roll my eyes. She wants to put up signs that say ‘meat is murder’ and other inflammatory things all over the caf.

I try to handle it diplomatically. “There is only so much money in the budget… I think it might be better to use yours for a sidewalk cleanup or a recycling drive.”

She deflates back into her chair and huffs.

“Any other old business?” I ask.

Everyone looks at each other—apparently that’s it.

Before I became the President, I was the Secretary. Before _that_ , I led the Squash Club. We were _terrible_ , but we liked to feel _fancy_. I’ve sat through a _lot_ of meetings like this one.

“Okay… new business?” I ask.

Anders raises his hand in my periphery. He’s sitting two seats away from me— _reclining_ , more accurately. He looks effortlessly at home in his skin—something I’ve never been able to master, for a variety of reasons.

“Yes?”

He looks at me like he’s seeing me for the very first time. “We need to address this bathroom bill business.”

The room groans collectively. I try to shush them.

“We have already petitioned to make all the bathrooms on campus gender-neutral,” I say. “You’ve had a rally… what else are you proposing?”

It sounds like I’m exasperated, but I’m _not_ —I really want to hear what he’s about to say. I want to hear _all_ the things he’s ever going to say, actually.

“I think we need to stage a series of demonstrations,” he says.

Fenris glares at him. “How would that work?”

“I might go into the women’s bathroom and take a shower,” he suggests.

“Is this really worth our time?” asks Fenris.

I shush him. “Fen—you’re out of turn.” I look back at Anders to repeat Fenris’ question, though. “How _would_ that work?”

He smiles... _at me_. “Well, we’d stage oppositely gendered demonstrations whenever possible until it becomes laissez faire or until the administration sees that we need this kind of change—whichever comes first.”

“What if I’m not _comfortable_ with that?” interrupts Sebastian suddenly. It’s far too loud and his face is red. I’m surprised he’d say something that conservative in a New England university, but I suppose there’s always _one_ …

“I don’t really care if you’re _comfortable_ … people are facing discrimination all over the place,” snaps Anders. He leans forward into the table and glares. It’s rather threatening.

After that, all hell breaks loose. Everyone starts shouting and throwing things (paperclips, pencils, and stacks of paper, mostly) and before I know it, the whole room is out of control.

I stand up, bang my fists on the table, and shout, “Calm _down_!”

Everyone looks at me.

“I know this is a _charged_ topic… but here’s the thing… I don’t want _anyone_ at this table to feel like they can’t voice their opinions—regardless of how _inflammatory_ they might be…” I glare at Sebastian.

He stands up and interrupts me, “Come on, Hawke—you aren’t going to tell me you _approve_ of this, are you?” He scoffs, “I mean… if I came into _your_ bathroom and took a shower next to you… wouldn’t it be threatening? I mean… as a _girl_?”

And there it is… the crux of this whole thing—the reason I’m never really at ease… he thinks I’m a _girl_. To be fair, I haven’t really _done_ anything to dissuade that opinion. I haven’t modified my physical appearance at all; when people call me ‘she’ I don’t correct them… but deep in my guts I know it isn’t accurate. And honestly, I don’t really feel like a _boy_ either. I kind of feel like _nothing_ … I wish I could be addressed like my gender isn’t an issue. In fact, if just _one person_ knew my inside self—understood the heterogeneous mixture of male and female elements that makes me who I am—that might be enough.

...but so far, no one does. The people I attempted to tell in the past thought it was a joke or a phase or confusion or ‘penis envy’ (whatever that’s supposed to mean)... so I stopped telling.

“Sebastian,” I clear my throat, “This has nothing to do with me or my personal bathroom habits. Anders wants to have an _event_. That is the right of every club leader on campus.”

Sebastian huffs while Anders smiles at me.

 

The rest of the meeting passes without incident. While I’m gathering my things, I sense that someone is lingering in my periphery. I look up; it’s Anders.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” I’m blushing—I can _feel_ it. I’m not even sure _why._ I can’t tell if I _want_ him or I want to _be_ him.

“Thanks for the assist.”

He’s so cool; I’m dying.

“No problem,” I try to sound nonchalant, but my voice is so fucking high—I might as well have shrieked.

“So what’s your major?” he asks.

He has literally never talked to me before. We’ve sat in these meetings together for four years. I was apparently invisible until I sat at the head of the table.

“Classics, you?”

“I’m pre-vet,” he says.

“That’s neat… have you already started applying to veterinary school?” I ask.

“Yeah—I haven’t gotten calls for interviews yet, though,” he explains. He runs his hand through his hair in this way I love. I mimic him without realizing and he laughs.

_Oh god, I’m so obvious._

“So… tell me—why don’t you come to _my_ meetings?” he asks.

Oh—he’s skeptical of me. “I’m just not much of a joiner,” I answer glibly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re the _president_ of the SGA—that’s like the most _joinery_ thing you could have done.”

“I suppose that's true…” I cough to fill the silence that follows.

“You know… allies are always welcome too…” he adds.

I want to scream that _I'm not an ally_ … that I'm just overwhelmed and horrified by my lack of bravery in the face of certain skepticism, but instead I blurt, “I'm bisexual, actually.” _It's true—it's just not the whole truth._

“Oh?” he smiles and grabs a piece of paper from his backpack. “Text me sometime and I’ll tell you about any events we have coming up.”

He slides his number to me across the table. I want to say something else to him—like, that I love his shirts with the triangles… that I’d like to wear one, but these annoying breasts—small as they are—would ruin the lines. That I’ve considered dieting seriously enough that my body looks like less _this_. But I don’t say anything like that; I just smile and grab my things.

He winks as he turns to leave.

 

* * *

 

The following Thursday, I’m standing in the lobby of the Library, waiting to see someone I recognize. I catch my reflection in a shiny glass door and tug on the hem of my shirt. I’m dressed like I’m going to the gym—it’s my default, since I’m usually either coming or going from there. I’m studying Classics, but I’m at school on a soccer scholarship. I spend my downtime weight training or swimming. The result of all this vigorous exercise has been positive: I’m extremely fit and strong-looking. (Not that _strong_ actually looks like anything, but people associate leanness with strength, so I’m playing into a stereotype.)

I’m constantly worried that people will think I look too _something_ , though. Too feminine, too masculine, too hard, too soft. In reality, I just want to look neutral—like a person who can _do_ things. But there isn’t a place in our society for neutrality.

 

“Hi,” says Anders. He sauntered up behind me while I wasn’t looking and is now smirking at me. He always looks like he has a secret. I wish I could understand what it is.

“Hi,” I parrot.

“I’m glad you came out for this.” He looks over my head at the bathroom signs. “Which one do you want to work on first?”

“The men’s?” I ask.

Before we can do anything else, Isabela sidles up next to him with Fenris in tow.

“Hey, buddy,” she says. She pinches the skin of his cheek and smirks.

“Hi… are you here to _help_?” he asks.

“I’m here to get naked…” she answers.

Even though I wouldn’t consider us friendly, I know her well enough to know she’s kidding. Deep down, she has a soft spot for causes. I’m not sure about Fenris, though; I don’t know him, or his intentions, well enough to tell.

“Well? Are we doing this or not?” asks Isabela. Fenris is still mute behind her.

Anders shrugs and opens the stick-figure labeled door. “After you,” he gestures to all of us.

I’m the first in line; I smile and walk past him.

It’s _gross_ in here. Everything smells vaguely like mold and excrement, but we’re doing it for a good cause.

“Okay, here we are,” he says. He points to a bay of shower heads. There aren’t any doors. In fact, it’s just one big open area with ten or twelve silver-green shower heads. I had a vague idea that men's rooms were like this, but it’s still disgusting. I stand there gaping at them.

“Well?” he raises an eyebrow at me.

 _Oh._ This is the part where I’m supposed to strip naked and take a shower, apparently. Isabela is already pulling her shirt off in my periphery. She’s really good at looking like she does, I notice—she’s so _soft-looking_ and she revels in it… I can’t imagine feeling like that. I play the part of confident-in-my-skin really well, but I’m always hyper-aware of how I look. I swallow hard and glance at Anders as if to intimate ‘ _please don’t look at me_.’

He smirks again and turns around. “You realize the whole _point_ of this is for people to _see_ you taking a shower in here, right?”

I laugh nervously and hang my towel on a hook next to me while the shower water warms up. “I know… it’s just… no one’s in here yet.”

He laughs—a less snarky version than before.

Isabela is saying something intended to harass Fenris indistinctly, but she turns her attention to me when I hesitate. “Come on, Hawke… let’s see those abs.”

I blush. I _do_ … have visible abs… and it’s a nicer trait to be egged on for than… basically anything else… so I’m amenable. It’s now or never. I strip my clothes off and get into the water. At that exact second, a student I know from the gym walks in and sees me. I watch his face turn beet red.

Anders hands him a flier that explains what we’re doing. He looks at it vaguely and leaves the bathroom without doing _anything_ —handwashing or otherwise.

“Nice work, Chris,” Anders says.

Heretofore, I wasn’t aware he knew my first name. Isabela quirks an eyebrow at me—maybe _she_ didn’t know it.

“Thanks,” I smile at Anders and we make eye contact for the first time since I stepped in.

He smiles, but makes it a point to keep his eyes up, which is more than I can say for Isabela. Fenris looks rather green over the whole thing. We spend the next 30 minutes—until I’m quite wrinkly—scandalizing male students and chatting idly. Eventually, Isabela suggests a change of venue.

She ushers us into the women’s room. In here, we have stalls, but they don’t have doors. Besides, the point of this is to make it obvious, so Anders pushes the curtain all the way open and strips. I discover right away that he is a lot more confident in his skin than I am. And why shouldn’t he be? He’s _gorgeous_. When he closes his eyes to let his hair get soaked, I chance a look.

He’s tall—probably slightly over six feet. He _towers_ over me, if I’m honest, but I think I’m easily more muscular. In fact, I have striated deltoids and upper pecs—he doesn’t. His whole body, I notice, is rather soft and smooth-looking, although he’s very thin. It would be _impossible_ for me to look like that with my genetic predispositions. I’m not designed that way. I’m compact and athletic; he’s sinewy and lithe.

If I can’t look _like_ him, I at least want to look _at_ him.

While I’m still checking him out— _like a predator_ —he opens his eyes. I don’t notice it quickly enough.

“You know…” he clears his throat.

My eyes snap up to meet his contritely.

“—I paid _you_ the courtesy of looking _away…_ ” he laughs.

“Sorry…”

“Do you like what you see?” he deadpans. It sounds like a serious question, though, so I’m _horrified_ until he cracks a smile.

Luckily, Isabela cuts in before I have to answer him one way or another. “Andy… if you want Hawke to look you could think of less transparent ways to do it… I mean, really… you’re so obvious…”

I’m ready to hit her, but I notice the result her comment has on Anders first. He actually looks embarrassed; like she’s _caught_ him… the thought makes something roil in my guts.

Fenris says something I don’t hear, which takes Isabela’s attention off of me. _Thank god_. In fact, after that, the majority of the demonstration goes by without a hitch. A few women are surprised to see Anders in there, but none of them looks _unhappy_ , I notice. It’s more a function of his level of confidence than his physical form, though… at least _I_ think so… I can’t help but wonder what it feels like to be that comfortable. I’ve spent a _lifetime_ in front of mirrors.

The last woman who walks into the bathroom glares at us skeptically. I hand her a flier and gesture to Anders, “He’s part of a demonstration.”

Anders looks at me strangely; I can’t imagine what it means.

It isn’t until she’s gone that Anders turns the water off and leans toward me. “Could you use they/them for me, actually?”

_Wait what?_

I stammer over some things that _aren’t_ words and manage a rudimentary apology.

Anders shrugs and smiles. “No worries. I hardly ever tell anyone, but… It just feels better to me. I like the duality of it.”

I nod and smile and the moment passes. We pack up our stuff and walk down the hallway in a clump, until we’re outside. Fenris and Isabela harass Anders about something, but I don’t really hear them. I’m still thinking about those words:

‘ _It feels better to me._ ’

 

That’s the moment everything changes. A thought occurs to me so swiftly and strongly that I stop short on the sidewalk without meaning to: I can  _choose_ to be like Anders… maybe not physically… but _that_ isn’t who we are. We’re a conglomerate of hopes and dreams, of ambition and drive… and, ultimately, we are who we _believe_ we are—a projection, a construct, a collection of electrical impulses between our ears.

Before I know it, Anders is disappearing around the corner with Isabela’s arm around their neck and Fenris rolling his eyes two steps behind. 

I look down at the remaining pamphlets in my hand. Anders’ name and contact info is in the bottom right-hand corner. On the top one they’ve circled it and written me a note above it: ‘ _Chris, text me_ ’. It isn’t subtle; nothing about them is. It’s then that I decide fear isn’t a good look on me; I’m about to be _brave_ …

From now on, Hawke runs this show. I’m the _president_ , after all… and it’s time for a change.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had an idea that this might be chaptered, but I think i like it better as a little slice... just a taste of the beginning with the hope of improvement in the future. Sometimes we evolve exponentially with just the tiniest push.
> 
> Thank you! <3


End file.
